A Start
by spn22
Summary: Wilson worries how House is going to cope once he is no longer around...whilst he continues to fight his illness and own fears.


_Set after the final episode._

_Wilson worries how House is going to cope once he is no longer around...whilst he continues to fight his illness and own fears._

_Reviews make me :)_

_I do not own House MD_

* * *

"House?"

House wordlessly threw some tablets at Wilson, who failed to catch them.

"Wash them down with some whiskey, you'll be flying soon enough."

Wilson gave a half smile and took the tablets. House glanced over subtly, hoping Wilson didn't see him. As much as he wanted to deny it, Wilson was looking sick. Very sick. Hospital sick.

"Stop looking so pained" Wilson gave an unconvincing smile. "I'm fine."

"Oh, I know. I was concerned about the amount of whiskey you were drinking. I can't be bothered to make another trip to the shops."

"We have plenty."

"Yeah, for the first hour...but then what?"

Wilson gave a smile and then grimaced, too obviously for House to pretend not to have noticed.

"Pain bad tonight?" House sounded nonchalant, a voice he had perfected over the years. Even when he was scared to death.

"It's...not good" Wilson admitted.

"Thanks for the detailed diagnosis, Doctor Wilson but could you elaborate a tad?"

"Just..." Wilson winced again. "Same pain as usual...up a notch."

"A notch?"

"or two..."

"Or up to eleven?"

"Or that." Wilson shrugged. "Like you said... painkillers and whisky. Give it half and hour. I'll be fine."

House raised his eyes. "You better drink up then."

Wilson nodded and took a long drink from his glass.

House sighed. "You know... if the pain is bad we could always..."

"No." Wilson stopped House before he could continue any further. "No hospitals. No doctors. You promised."

"I did...but quite frankly, Wilson, you look like shit."

"Yeah, well. You're no super model yourself."

"Ah, well. That was the dream after you died. Thanks for killing it."

Wilson rolled his eyes but gave a small laugh before taking a long drink.

* * *

"Think I might hit the hay."

Wilson looked up, his eyes glazed over from pain and too much Whiskey.

"One more?"

"No. I can't keep my eyes open anymore."

"Please." Wilson put a hand out. "Please. Don't go."

House looked at Wilson, failing to mask his concern this time.

"Hey." His voice was softer than he usually offered. He knelt down so that he was leaning against the sofa, facing Wilson. "I thought I was supposed to be the needy one in this relationship?"

Wilson sniffed and wiped a hand across his eyes. "Just...one more drink, House? One more. I... I can't be alone. Not yet. I'm not tired enough."

House's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

"When the lights are off...and I can't sleep... it... it becomes real. Too real. I get scared, House. I go to read a book and think I might not get to finish it. Every TV show reminds me that I'm not going to be here much longer... 'What a cliffhanger, join us for the new season next year...' My head wants to explode. There's nothing but... black. And, let's face it, I have plenty of time for that, right?"

House didn't answer but reached for his glass.

"I think I have more than a glass left in me, Wilson."

Wilson reached out and grasped House's arm.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

House rolled his eyes.

"You've just given me that whole speech and now you don't want..."

"I mean _this. _All of it. Waiting. I'm the one who's dying...not you"

"To most I'm dead already"

"But you're not, House. Not for a while either, I hope."

"Shut up and drink your drink."

"Listen...I'm serious, what's your plan? What are you going to do?"

House stood up, balancing on his stick for support.

"Drink by yourself."

"Come on, House. I need to know that you're going to be okay. You know I'm going downhill... it...it won't be long. You're a doctor, I don't need to tell you."

"No I'm not." House said shortly. "Not anymore."

* * *

House stirred, his head hurting from too much whiskey. He automatically shook himself, knowing that the first job of the day was to wake Wilson, get him up and about, by whatever means necessary.

He strolled into Wilson's room without knocking.

"Sorry to disturb in the middle of your hangover but..."

House froze. Wilson's bed was empty. Perfectly made.

With a letter on the pillow- and Wilson's cell phone.

"Shit" House hobbled towards the bed as fast as his leg and head would allow and grabbed the letter.

Opening it, his hand shaking, House read quickly.

_House,_

_Firstly, don't freak out. I haven't done anything overly dramatic._

_I'll be back tomorrow morning._

_I need you to have a break away from me._

_I need you to think things over... because the next time this happens I won't be coming back. _

_Don't kill yourself or anything..._

_Re-stocked on food and Whiskey._

_W._

* * *

By midday House was on the Whiskey. Straight.

_Goddamm you Wilson. Couldn't you have even kept your phone?_

House sat back, switching the talk show off the television. After a minute of silence he put it back on.

He felt patronised. He knew exactly what Wilson was trying to show him.

The silence. The loneliness. The mindless TV. One day soon, this would be permanent.

This would be his life.

A life without Wilson.

With the assurance that Wilson wasn't there to see, House placed his head in his hands and sobbed.

* * *

House felt exhausted.

It was only 6pm and he felt hungover... yet he could see no point to stop drinking until he slept.

He didn't know he could ever get this low. The sad fact that this would soon be his reality was horrifying.

With no case, no hospital and no Wilson to occupy his mind...

What was he capable of doing to himself?

* * *

He woke, still on the sofa, his leg stiff and sore.

Hearing the door go, he realised the sound must have woken him.

Wilson was in the room in a second. He quickly surveyed the scene and looked sadly at his friend.

"Do you see now?" he said softly.

House shook his head, his voice choked. "I see that I lost one of the days left with you."

* * *

Wilson silently put a glass of whisky next to House.

"Where did you go?" House asked softly.

Wilson took a sip. "Does it matter?"

House shrugged. "Not really."

Wilson smiled slightly. "Just a motel we passed a way back."

House nodded, downing the whisky in one.

"Come on, House. I don't really need to explain _why _I did it, do I?"

"To piss me off?"

"To see how you would cope."

House didn't say anything but reached for the bottle to refill.

"What did you do? Without me here?"

House rolled his eyes. "Oh, you know, I had a supremely productive day. I read, I wrote, I pondered."

"You drank."

"Or maybe, as you so bluntly put it, I just drank. Then fell asleep."

"Hm hm."

"Ah, just as you expected Doctor Wilson?"

Wilson sighed. "It will get... easier House. Time heals everything. Even shit."

"That's bullshit." House stood up. "Time doesn't heal everything. It doesn't heal your cancer. It doesn't heal my leg and it sure as hell doesn't solve me."

"House..."

"Just... stop trying to save me. Concentrate on yourself."

He tried to leave but Wilson put a hand on his arm.

"You know what, you bastard? I'm trying to come to peace with this. Yeah, it's bullshit. Yeah, I'm fooling myself. Yeah, I wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats... but the one thing I can sort- if only a little bit- is you."

House's face twitched. "Know a cure for cancer?"

Wilson sighed. "No... no I don't. Though you know what gives the people after me a fighting chance? People like you."

House shook his head but Wilson continued.

"Do _not _waste your mind, House. Do _not _go to pieces. I need... I need to go knowing that you are going to be okay... and the only way that you are going to be okay is to do what you do best. Use your brain. Help people in your own, twisted way. Stop being in denial that... I'm going to be here forever."

House didn't say anything and Wilson eased himself up so that he could sit beside him. he hesitatingly placed an arm around his friends shoulders. House jerked but didn't pull away.

"It's going to be okay you know" Wilson said softly, squeezing House's shoulder. "I promise. You just have to try. Try for me. Please."

House's throat hurt. Everything hurt.

He then, for the first time for Wilson to see, allowed himself to cry. Wilson pulled him into a hug.

"This is shit." House whispered.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

_A start. _Wilson thought silently to himself as tears filled his own eyes. _It's a start. _


End file.
